


Finding a Way Home

by okkaaaaayyy



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Everyone adopts Trevor, F/M, Found Family, How Do I Tag, The Church, Trevor is kind of emo, but who wouldn't be, it's not that sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 15:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19134862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okkaaaaayyy/pseuds/okkaaaaayyy
Summary: Trevor is a Belmont, the last of his kind, so of course he somehow manages to become the honorary son of the strongest vampire in Wallachia.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trevor is alone and scared, and most of all, misses his family.

Sometimes, when Trevor closed his eyes to fall asleep, he only saw the black of his eyelids. Those were the good nights. 

Most nights, a bonfire glowed in his brain. Most nights, a pyre was set up and there were stakes hammered into the ground, and they were almost never empty. Most nights, it was that night on replay. He could hear the screaming, from his father (he had never heard his father scream before) to the shrill shrieks of his littlest sister. She had been learning magic when they’d come, little spurts of fire or tiny rocks of ice that she liked to give to the friendly dogs when they went into town. They would lap the ice from her hand, already half melted from being clenched in her tiny hands, and she would smile at them like they were the best things in her tiny little world. 

Most nights, he could feel the heat from the flames all around him, and fire had never scared him before that night. His parents sometimes set up big bonfires and he and his siblings would play around it as they sat and talked. He remembered how the fire smelled then, all pleasant wood smoke that filled the air entirely, and the way its light bounced off his family's faces in the almost dark of dusk. He hadn’t thought, at the time, of how easily fire could morph into something worth fearing. He had been eight and stupid, after all. 

Most nights, the smell was the worst part, so similar to that wood smoke, but with the nauseating addition of flesh; human skin and blood and insides all burning together and melting into one big puddle. He thought that maybe the smell was trying to match the screams in their level of agony, so that everyone who wasn’t on fire knew who was and just how much it hurt, and the thought made him want to cry. A lot of things made him want to cry, but he was a Belmont and not eight and stupid anymore, so he tried not to. (The smell was bad though; it followed him around like a cloud, always with him and always filling him with the slight need to vomit and the slight want to cry). 

Most nights, Trevor found a nice piece of ground to sleep on, mostly under a big tree, if he could find one, because they reminded him of home, and he clenched his eyes tight and tried not to see anything. The burns along his legs and feet hurt, like they had been since he escaped (the feet were the worst, because he had to walk on them, because he had to _get away)._ The cool ground sometimes felt good on the wounds, but mostly it just hurt. His eye hurt, too, but the burns hurt the most, so he mostly just ignored the sting of the cut. He got cold a lot, too, with shivers that made his hands shake and his teeth clatter, but he didn’t make a big fire because he didn’t want to be found and he didn’t want to get burned again. And the hunger was there too, of course, but the smell kept it from getting too unmanageable, because all he had to do was breathe through his nose to feel like he would never be hungry again. 

Some nights, he did cry. He wished he could cry more quietly, even if no one could hear him out in the trees and the dirt. He wondered what his parents would think of him (he had never seen either of them cry, except for when his sister was born, and that didn’t count because they had been smiling too). He wondered if they would’ve been disappointed in him, as pathetic as he was, crying like he was, but that always just made him cry harder. Those nights he didn’t dream. 

*****

No one recognized him after half a year. 

For the first month or so, he had been too scared to go out into towns during the day; he hadn’t escaped just to end up back where he started. He had snuck around through the towns at night, occasionally stealing things he could use: food, clothes, some burn salve for his feet. Towns with a large church presence were a no go entirely. 

Sometimes people talked to him, mostly kindly old people; those ones gave him food a lot of the time, and the occasional grandmotherly pat on the head. He probably reminded them of their grandchildren. Very rarely, another child (one too young to know not to talk to strange boys they found on the edge of town) would play with him for a bit, and sometimes he could even imagine that he was playing with his brothers and sisters again. 

Once, a woman had found him sitting, boots beside him, feet out and raw and blistered and maybe not healing as they should have, and she had offered to clean his wounds and bandage them, so long as he paid with small chores around her shop. She was the village doctor, and he stayed with her for a week before leaving, arms full of some medical gauze and salve. She never asked him about how he got the burns, and he never saw her again. 

He told himself he had to keep moving, even as he began to venture into towns more and more, because being the last Belmont alive put a target on his back too big to ignore. Luckily for him, the church conveniently hadn’t spread the fact that he’d escaped too far or wide, perhaps not wanting to deal with the possible backlash. It made him burn with shame and a raw, red anger that his family name had been reduced to this. _To him._

It wasn’t such a bad life, he told himself, on nights where the sky was dark above him and a chill swept through Wallachia and made its home deep within his bones. He didn’t cry so much anymore, although that deep seated sadness had never really left his stomach. It lay there, coiled like a snake, an uncomfortable weight, a stone in his belly. 

Some nights, lying under the biggest tree he could find, his whip in his hands, he thought about his family. The smell still lingered around him, and he vaguely remembered the time a small animal had died in the wall of the Belmont Manor. It had smelled for weeks, and his little sister had cried when he told her why. The scar on his face hurt when he thought about it, and phantom flames licked up his torso and made him itch all over. 

If he didn’t scratch, it was fine. It wasn’t so bad. He had it better than some people - sick people and tiny orphans and abused children. He would live. 

(He always scratched, and he never felt any better). 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trevor becomes a budding alcoholic and gets the shit kicked out of him.

Alcohol helped. 

Trevor remembered his father on the nights he would drink. The man, so normally stone faced and strict, melted when he had enough beer. He turned soft and happy and blubbery, and once, when Trevor was around four years old or so, his father picked him up and swung him around and around and around until his mother had whacked him upside the head for nearly dropping Trevor. A pat on the head was rare from his father, so he had been awestruck and happy, and hadn’t understood when his father was back to being himself the next day. 

Alcohol was warm and it tasted bad, and once it was down his throat he had trouble stopping. It eased the loneliness inside his gut, even if he never got as visibly jovial as his father. And maybe he wasn’t happy, but he wasn’t sad, and that was enough for him. 

Unfortunately, bars weren’t his favorite places in the world. They were often filled with large drunk men who reeked (worse than him, and he hadn’t had a real bath in what was probably a year) of dirt and sweat, all masked with the thick smell of booze on their breath. They were always loud and always talked about some shitty little drama like it was the end of the world. (“The fucking Jenkins’ still owe me for that fucking goat and it’s been over a fucking year!”) Their eyes followed him in the small, smelly room, almost always, because of the scar on his face and his apparent age. (They didn’t stare because he was a Belmont; hardly anyone knew there was still one alive, and if they did, they probably weren’t sitting in the sad town bar looking for him). 

No one really cared that he was only fourteen and a half (no one asked), especially if he coughed up the money to pay for his own drinks, but it still garnered some looks. He was also smaller than nearly everyone in the bars, including the very occasional woman. 

But it wasn’t so bad if he ignored the stares and the smell and instead focused on getting as drunk as humanly possible without dying. So that night, he was sitting there, doing his weekly ritual, when a priest walked in. 

He wasn’t dressed like a priest, but Trevor could tell. Priests walked a certain way, with an air of superiority, like they were better than everyone around them (he thought of his family, and gritted his teeth). They dressed different, too, like nobles, but it was easy to tell a noble from a priest because nobles belonged to strong families with bright insignias blazon on their chests. He would know, coming from one of those families. 

The bar went silent as he entered, platinum hair immaculate and frown so deep and ingrained that everyone else’s smiles died by degree. He said nothing and sat down at the counter. People moved to make room for him, watching as he ordered one drink, before fitfully going back to their conversations, albeit more quietly. It wasn’t often you saw a priest getting a drink. If it was up to Trevor, he would never have to see a priest again. 

His lips curled into a snarl without his permission, and his legs were moving towards the exit before he could think to stop them. He left a haphazard pile of coins on the table, too distractedly to really count them out properly. He didn’t want to be there anymore; he wasn’t drunk enough to think that was a good idea. 

He felt eyes prick his back, and he could tell they weren’t like the eyes of the normal sad drunkards who looked at him every other night. The priest was looking at him. 

His body almost froze, and too late he realized his mistake. Leaving immediately after the priest showed up just looked suspicious, and the fact that he was young and scarred would just bring more attention to him. He didn’t turn around, and after a second he forced his legs to keep moving, unlocking his knees with jerky first steps. He couldn’t very well sit back down. 

The night was cool on his face, a nice break from the heat of so many people packed into a room together. He let out a breath, allowing his shoulders to relax a little, but he wasn’t stupid enough to stick around for much longer. He began to walk out of town, another tiny one that didn’t matter enough to remember the name of. He could find another one the next night just as easily. 

But about halfway down the path, Trevor picked up on the telltale sounds of the crunching of gravel behind him, four or five sets of footsteps. It spelled trouble, and the priest was almost surely at the head of it, because of course Trevor couldn’t have away cleanly. He didn’t stop walking, and the footsteps didn’t stop following him either. 

They were getting closer, and he could imagine he could hear their breathing, predatory and loud and close. It was dark out, and quiet. His heart pounded in his chest, too loud and too fast. 

He bolted. 

It made him look worse in the long run, but the idea of being caught by the priest. . . If he managed to run out of their range, he could lay low for the next couple of weeks and no one would be any wiser on his location. 

Obviously, because the universe hated him, he didn’t manage to do that. Instead he tripped, just as the town road became a forest path, knees and hands skidding on the ground hard. All he had to do was get up and run away from the path; they might look in the woods but there was no way they would find him in the dark. He was small - he at least had that advantage. 

And then a foot landed squarely on the small of his back, pushing him into the dirt before he could even fully push himself back up. _Shit._

“Grab his arms,” a man said, and his voice was cold and snooty and when Trevor was jerked up he was unsurprised by who stared back at him. The men, two from the bar, were rough with his limbs, as if they needed to use their full body weight to restrain a fourteen year old. So close to them, he could smell every inch of unwashed farm owner; he certainly didn’t envy their wives, if they had them. 

The priest, hair a little less perfect after running after Trevor, gripped his chin with delicate fingers. They were long; piano player's fingers (his mother had had fingers like that, slender and pretty and soft), and he flinched away from them on instinct. The man smiled, his lips tight but his eyes gleaming in the soft moonlight. 

“I thought it was you,” he spoke, _“Belmont.”_ The name was spoken like a curse. The men (Trevor counted four, including the two behind him) around them shifted uncomfortably. “The church will pay a pretty price for you, don’t you think? Just to watch you burn.” He looked entirely too satisfied with himself. 

“But first, I don’t think they’ll be opposed to a little roughing up.” And he punched Trevor, right in the face. Hard. And then did it again, and again, and again, and it didn’t matter where he was punching because it hurt all the same, and at one point the two men dropped his arms, but he couldn’t even reach for his whip or his sword or anything because some asshole punched him in the gut and knocked all the wind out of him. The wheeze that came out of him as he hit the ground made the men around him laugh, any reservations about his family heritage forgotten. 

They stood around him, looking every bit as evil as when they came for his family two years ago, and they kicked him and laughed and had a fucking blast and Trevor felt all that hatred come back tenfold at the sight of it. 

“Fuck you!” He mumbled, and the kicking stopped as the priest let out a hearty laugh. “Baby’s got something to say?” He teased, but they had stopped hitting him and he was going to make sure that was the biggest mistake they ever made. His whip was out before the guy finished his sentence, grappling around one of their legs and pulling him off his feet. Trevor hadn’t gotten to use his whip in a long, long time. He grinned, all teeth and no warmth, and cracked his weapon for effect, hitting another guy in the face and causing a warm arch of blood to rain through the sky. 

The other two bar guys ran at him, not expecting the fact that he had more than one weapon hidden in his clothes. He pulled his shortsword out and slashed the one on his left before the guy realized what was happening, cutting a long diagonal line on his belly. He couldn’t sidestep the other one in time and ended up getting a solid punch to the skull, head ringing as he heard the guy’s knuckles crack against bone. His vision flashed white, and then a thousand different colors, bright and acidic and ugly, and he swung out blindly with his sword, relishing in the cry of the fourth man. 

His vision cleared just as the priest ran at him, and suddenly he was slammed against a tree, back protesting at the hit. His wrists were wrangled from him, squeezed so hard he thought they might break, and he cursed as he dropped both of his weapons. There was an arm on his throat, choking the life out of him and holding him against the tree; his legs kicked out, but they only managed to weakly hit the guy’s calves. “Little rat,” he said, “with a family of witches.” The man spit words like they were venom. 

“W-was,” he choked on his words, and the guy lightened up on his throat, moving to tighten the grip on his arms. That damn smile was back on his face, ugly and mean. “Was my eight year old sister a witch?” He asked, and he didn’t know why he was asking because all the priests were corrupt and they could care less if who they killed was innocent or not. Nothing he would say would matter, but the words spilled from his mouth like a flood. “Do you think she had tea parties with the Devil?” 

And then embarrassing tears were sliding down his cheeks, angry and hot and wet. “Fuck you, you dirty rotten priest! You think God is proud of you?” Trevor had always had an impulsive mouth; his father had said he talked more than what was good for him. 

The man’s eyes were hard, his mouth set, and, in that moment, Trevor knew he was going to die exactly like his family had. His sword was in the man’s hand, glinting in the moonlight, and Trevor wanted to close his eyes but he was frozen, looking for an opportunity, looking for a way out, and the sword was getting closer and Trevor knew just how sharp it was (“never play with weapons, Trevor,” his mother had scolded once, as he held his bleeding hand and she wrapped it) and wet tears were still slipping out of his eyes unbidden, and- 

And then a wall of pure blackness materialized behind the priest.The moon was blotted out, the man’s face cast in shadow. The hold on Trevor’s limbs was released, letting him slide down the tree as he looked up and saw the face of a man. A very, very tall man. 

The priest only came up to just about the middle of the man’s bicep, and he looked smaller and smaller as he shrunk away. He brandished a cross, Trevor’s sword dropped and forgotten in shock, and the tall man smiled, and it was a mean smile, too. And suddenly Trevor realized how angry this new arrival looked, all dark red eyes and towering height and sinister smiles. He shivered, and his head twinged at the action, small spots of colors lighting up around him. The bruises that would litter his body had already begun forming, dark and purple-blue and aching. 

“You’re not very priestly, now are you? Attacking children?” The man asked, and the priest trembled. 

“W-What are you? The Devil? Don’t come any closer; I’m a holy man!” 

Trevor wanted to laugh, but his throat had closed up and the angry tears were still sliding down his face, so he settled for scrambling for his lost weapons instead. The tall man did laugh, dry and not at all genuine. 

“You’re about as holy as I am,” he said, and it was more of an insult that anything the priest had said to Trevor. 

His hands closed around his whip, a familiar shape and weight in his hand, when the priest ran past him, terrified. They weren’t far from town; the priest would get back in no time, and Trevor didn’t think he would be back. 

“You didn’t kill him,” Trevor said, surprising himself. 

“I don’t think my wife would be very pleased with me if I did that,” he responded, and Trevor looked at him, surprised. The man had a wife? Looking him up and down, it was easy to see that he wasn’t human. He looked human, but wrong, with pale, almost grey skin, and an impossible height. There was an aura around him, of something terribly strong and old and distinctly not human. His hands, which were partly hidden under his clock, had long, long nails - claws. 

“Are-Are you a vampire?” He asked, because he always had to open his mouth. 

The guy raised an eyebrow. “I am.” The reply was so simple, Trevor wanted to laugh. Or cry. His head was swimming. He gripped his whip tighter. 

“Why did you help me then?” He asked. He should’ve been running away. Vampires were the Belmont’s number one enemy; the most dangerous and the most hunted. He didn’t know why he wasn’t running. His feet swayed beneath him, his vision still blinking bright and ugly every once in a while. 

There was a pause, and then: “I’m not too fond of priests, either.” 

Another thought occurred to him, terrible and scary. 

“Do you know who I am?” If he knew Trevor was a Belmont, it wouldn’t matter that he hadn’t burned at the stake, because he would be dead anyway. 

Another eyebrow raised. “Should I?” 

“No,” he stuttered, maybe a little too quick. And then, because he was stupid and he couldn’t think straight for some reason (why did his head hurt so much? He hadn’t drunk enough to already be hungover), he added on, “I’m Trevor.” 

The man’s lips quirked up, just a little. “Nice to meet you, Trevor.” He didn’t offer his own name. 

Everything was blurring, the vampire mixing into the grey of the night until it was all one confusing swirl of color. Black spots were filling his vision. When he blinked he realized suddenly that he was sitting, and that the vampire was next to him, hunched over so that his face was next to Trevor’s. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, but the sudden urge to vomit stopped Trevor from answering. He probably wouldn’t have come up with anything coherent anyway; a vampire, asking if he was okay! He couldn’t believe it. Liquidy bile splattered onto the ground until his heaves gave way to dry retching; he hadn’t eaten much in awhile. 

The vampire was still close to him, although he had moved a little bit further away so as not to get hit by the vomit. Trevor didn’t blame him for that. His brain must not have been working properly, because the vampire didn’t look mad or fearsome at all; his brow was furrowed, which made him look just a little worried. 

“Are you going to kill me?” He asked, as his vision finally started to really go. 

“Of course not,” he thought he heard before he blacked out entirely. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dracula maybe didn't hear that whole conversation, or else maybe he wouldn't have saved Trevor, but Lisa's scoldings about how killing is bad have certainly had an effect on him, at least in this fic. I kind of just imagine him as a big softie when he's got his wife and kid, to be honest. I'm a bit worried about his characterization, so any comments with tips or constructive criticism would be appreciated!  
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments; they make my day! In this chapter, Trevor is a bit older, and gets into a whole spot of trouble because I must hurt all my favorite characters, but also Dracula because I love him! As promised, this one is a little longer and hopefully more action packed! Thank you for reading and have a great day! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trevor wakes up, possibly wishing he hadn't.

Trevor woke up in something comfortable and soft, which wasn’t right because he definitely didn’t remember falling asleep in a bed. 

He hadn’t slept in a bed in a long, long time. 

He groaned and opened his eyes. The room seemed feverishly bright, despite the fact that the curtains were drawn and the door was only open a crack. Strange lights hung on the walls, but none of them were on. 

The sheets around him were a mess, formulated into his own little nest while him in the center. He used to do it as a child; he always liked the idea of being in his own little cave, somewhere soft and dark and peaceful, especially as he tried to sleep. None of the monsters they hunted could get him when he was in his blanket shelter. No werewolves or sirens or night creatures and especially no vampires. 

His body ached, angry purple bruises littering his chest and stomach when he lifted his shirt to look. There were some on his arms and legs, and there had to be a least one on his face, if the aching along his jaw was any indicator. 

Suddenly, the door opened, and a pretty blonde woman came in, carrying a tray of food. The fact that he had no idea who she was was a little disconcerting, but she didn’t look particularly threatening, at least. He wondered if he could pretend to be asleep, because his head hurt and he didn’t really want to talk to anyone, but she had spotted him before he could even close his eyes. It was probably best to figure out what was going on, anyway. 

“Ah, hello!” She spoke, and her voice was soft and quiet, like someone was sleeping next to him and she was trying not to wake them. She walked the rest of the way into the room and set the tray down on a desk before sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m Lisa.” 

“Tre-” He started, but his throat was so dry and scratchy that the word died halfway. He took the glass of water she offered him readily, and sucked it down greedily, ignoring every instinct in his head screaming at him that it was a mistake. “Trevor,” He tried again. 

“Nice to meet you, Trevor,” she had a nice smile, all honey and sugar and warmth. He thought it probably took a lot of effort to smile like that - like you meant it. “It’s good that you remember your name,” she added on, before he could ask her any questions. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

“I thought you might've gotten a mild concussion, sweetie. Sometimes there are problems with memory afterwards.” 

“Oh.” He was uneasy, despite Lisa’s soft voice. “Where am I? How did I get here?” 

“I take it you don’t remember much about my husband, then? You met him last night.” Her husband? Trevor frowned, closing his eyes like that would help him remember. He had been drinking, there had been a. . . priest? An angry one, maybe. 

“He wasn’t a priest, was he?” Trevor asked, and Lisa laughed. Her laugh reminded him of his mother’s. 

“No.” 

Another memory surfaced, this one much darker; he had been outside, and the priest had been there, along with other men. And something that was distinctly not a man. He couldn’t quite remember what it was, though. 

“Is he tall?” He asked, the barest thread of an idea floating around in his head. Another smile. “That would be him,” she confirmed as she got up to pick up the tray she had brought in with her. “But don’t worry about it for now; your memory should gradually come back. My husband found you on the road, being attacked by a group of men, so he helped chase them off. You passed out so he brought you here; I’m a doctor, you see.” 

Despite her explanation, he could only remember the faint edges of what had happened. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was wrong. “Okay,” he said, noticing the food on the tray and not wasting any time in taking it from Lisa. “When can I leave?” He asked, because trusting people for too long never turned out well, in his experience. 

“You should stay for a week, at least, just to make sure nothing goes wrong.” And with that, she left him to his food, swallowed by a bed too big for his small frame. The door stayed open a crack, and despite wanting to get up and explore, Trevor would never say no to a free meal, and after it was all gone, his eyelids slid closed before he could even think about standing up. 

*****

When he woke up again, Trevor felt better. His head hurt less, at least, and when he tried, he remembered more about the previous night. Lisa’s husband took shape in his mind, and suddenly he knew what hadn’t felt right.

He was a vampire. And Trevor was in his house.

 _Fuck._

His feet were hitting the floor before his next thought entered his head. The door was still cracked open, and he peeked through it like a hoard of hungry night creatures might be waiting on the other side (for all he knew, there might be), only to find nothing but an empty, ornate hallway.

The strange lights he had seen in his room decorated the walls, filling the hall with a soft, unnatural glow. The hall seemed to stretch for a long time in both directions, left and right, and he imagined the entire house was some maze of doom, where every turn was wrong and dangerous. There were windows, but he was on a high enough level that jumping was out of the question. A further look discovered that there was really nothing for him to wrap his whip around (which was still at his hip, thank God) to grapple down, which left him stranded. 

With that in mind, he picked a random direction (right was always right, after all) and took off running. His knuckles were turning white from their grip on his whip as he made turn after turn, eventually coming to two sets of stairs, mirroring each other on both sides of a large room. They were fancy and winding and maybe the most expensive looking thing he had stepped on in years, and led to an open area. He was just glad to be in a room that wasn’t a creepy hallway.

Taking a random door on the right side of the open room, he came into a room he could only describe as a kitchen, looking oddly warm and homely for something in the center of a vampire’s house. There were pale yellow cabinets, and a cute little stove, emitting slight warmth, and a doorway connected to what had to be a dining room.

And in said doorway, there was a boy. 

Trevor jumped when his eyes finally landed on him, lean and pale, with blonde hair like Lisa’s, and eyes that were sharp and yellow. Trevor didn’t think he had ever seen a boy he could describe as pretty before, but he could almost mistake this one for a girl if he didn’t pay attention to his frame or his sharp features. He looked surprised, light eyebrows raised in Trevor’s direction.

“Mother just went up to give you your lunch,” he commented idly. “You really shouldn’t be up and running around the house.”

“Who are you?”

“Who are _you;_ it’s _my_ house,” the boy grumbled, before sighing. “Adrian. Nice to meet you.” The other boy didn’t sound all that pleased to meet him, but before Trevor could respond, Lisa came flying down the stairs.

“Adrian, could you help me look for Trevor plea- Oh!” She cut herself off as she caught sight of him. “I see you’ve found your way downstairs! You scared me half to death when I couldn’t find you,” she scolded, and gave him a light whack on the top of his head, to his surprise. “Next time, call someone before you go exploring, will you?”

“I. . . Um, okay?” The motherly reprimand had put him off kilter. “But Miss, there’s something you need to know! You’re in danger!” The vampire could show up at any minute; he had to be quick. Lisa’s eyebrows shot up at the words, and Trevor thought he could hear a snort from Adrian from his place in the doorway.

“I don’t know if you know this, but your husband is definitely a vampire.” No one said anything, and then Adrian burst out laughing behind him. His laugh was a quiet, subtle thing (Trevor’s had always been loud and almost giggly, when he was really, really laughing), and it made Trevor’s face flush with embarrassment. He wouldn’t be laughing when he was dead, because there was a big fucking vampire in his house, the stupid asshole. “Like an honest to God, holy-shit-that’s-a-vampire, vampire.”

“Yes, he is,” Lisa said, and the admission stopped him straight in his tracks. He must’ve looked dumb, with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide and his whip still clutched tight in his fists, but he’d been expecting anything but a knowledgeable smile, and Adrian’s small wheezes behind him.

“But. . . Huh?”

“I did marry him, I had some idea of what I was getting into.”

“ _You’re_ not a vampire, though.”

“Not in the least.” Lisa’s smile dropped a bit. Adrian had gone silent, which somehow made Trevor more on edge. “Trevor, Vlad’s not going to hurt you; he was the one that brought you here.”

“Yeah, probably to eat me later or some shit! Vampires don’t just bring random strangers to their house for hugs and candy!” Not enough air was coming into his lungs, and a dull throb was beginning to echo behind his left eye, persistent and terrible. He didn’t think he had ever met a human who was okay with vampires, let alone one who _lived_ with one, and he wasn’t willing to test his luck talking to someone who was.

“Well, that’s awfully short sided, don’t you think?”

And Trevor froze.

His gaze turned upward, upward, upward because the vampire was fucking tall. At some point during the conversation, he had arrived next to Adrian, and he looked pissed. His eyes were an angry red color and his voice had been cold and measured, and, sure, maybe Trevor had brought it upon himself for shit talking the guy in his own house, but he was kind of just proving his point by looking so scary. The noise that came out of Trevor’s throat was something he’d rather not remember, and the step back he took was involuntary.

“You’re a guest in my house, and I assure you,” the vampire took a step forward, and the kitchen felt suddenly tiny, “if I was going to eat you, you would be dead already.”

“Vlad,” Lisa said, sounding exasperated, “you’re scaring him!”

The vampire -Vlad?- rubbed the space between his eyes as if he could feel a headache forming there. “Fine, but my point still stands. Just because some vampires would kill a child already being beat senseless by a mob, doesn’t mean that all of us would.” And with that, he turned around, walked through the door to the dining room, and promptly disappeared from Trevor’s sight completely.

Adrian followed suit, and he looked pissed, too. He must've been one of those people who looked bitchy almost all of the time and looked even more bitchy when they were actually mad. Trevor’s old math tutor had had a face like that, all angles and sharp, pointed eyebrows. Only Lisa stayed with him in the kitchen, her hand light on his shoulder like she thought he might crumble into pieces in front of her. She crouched down in front of him and looked him in the eyes as she spoke with her tea and honey voice.

“No one’s going to hurt you here, okay? Just because Vlad is a vampire doesn’t mean he’s going to attack you.”

He was having trouble focusing his eyes on hers. “I want to leave," he whispered. 

“They’re looking for you down there,” she eventually said. “I went into town and there are pictures up, of a little boy that looks like you. Vlad told me what happened; that priest is going to be out for blood.”

He gulped. “I’ll sneak around the woods. I’ll go to the next town.”

“He’s sent word to all the surrounding area; you aren’t going to make it out of Wallachia without someone recognizing you.” She stood up, dusting off her dress with one hand and leading him forward with the other, up the stairs, back to where he started. “Stay here for a week, at least, let things settle down before you stir it all up again.” The room was the same as he had left it, and looking at the floor, Trevor noticed that his books were there, taken off sometime during his unconsciousness; his escape plan had been so hasty that he hadn’t even realized his feet were bare.

“I’m not going to let Vlad hurt you; he’s not a bad person. If he was, I wouldn’t have married him. Trust me.”

She left him sitting on the bed. The whip was on his lap, handle sweaty and warm. There was a tray of food on the bedside table, getting colder the longer it sat. His hands shook and for the first time since his house burned down, he wasn’t hungry at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about this chapter, guys; it feels kind of lame. I had a bit of trouble with it, so constructive criticism or any tips would be welcome. Also sorry for the long-ish wait - hopefully some of the next chapters will come a bit more easily to me, and hopefully I won't get distracted by another TV series again (Good Omens was pretty good, I'd recommend it!) Anyway I don't think Trevor would exactly be welcome to the fact that he's in a vampire's house, given his family history, but who can blame him?  
> Thank you for any comments or kudos; they're much appreciated! Hope you enjoyed and have a lovely day :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trevor makes a discovery and a questionable decision.

Trevor woke up the next day to his stomach growling. _Loudly._

If there was one thing he hated, it was being hungry. Or the church. Or vampires. Okay, so it was a lot of things, but that didn’t mean he didn’t absolutely despise being hungry. He hated being used to the dull aches that grew into wracking pains throughout his whole body. He hated not being able to ignore them. Most of all, he hated how used to them he’d become, no matter how useful it had proved in the past. 

He got out of his carefully crafted nest and made sure to actually put his boots on before peeking out through the crack of the door. Despite what Lisa said, he planned to find an exit that morning and leave the house. Even if the vampire didn’t eat him, he was still staying with his family’s mortal enemy. He didn’t want to imagine what they would think of him then. 

He managed to find his way back to the large staircase and consequently, the kitchen-dining room area. He figured the door would probably be close enough to the common rooms, like it was in the Belmont Manor. 

He hadn’t figured that Lisa and her son would be sitting in the dining room again, eating breakfast. At least his body clock was back to waking him up in the morning, but he also wasn’t too keen on chatting with either of them. It was too late to turn around and leave the room, though, especially with both of them staring at him. 

“Trevor!” Lisa jumped up. “Exploring again, I see. Why don’t you sit down and eat with us?” It wasn’t a request he could exactly refuse, when she was already fixing up a plate for him, so he just awkwardly nodded and sat down, avoiding any eye contact with Adrian, who still had the bitchiest face of the century plastered in place. Lisa sat back down, seemingly content with watching him out of the corner of her eye as she resumed conversation with her son. 

His body betrayed him once again, as another growl echoed throughout the empty space. He blushed when Lisa laughed, reluctantly picking up his fork and knife. He may have been used to being hungry, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t weak when food was actually put in front of him. And once he really started eating, it was hard to stop, because he hadn’t had an actual cooked meal in months. He kept eating until his stomach did that lurchy uncomfortable flip that meant he would throw up if he continued. Half his plate was gone, and he had barely registered the taste. 

When he looked up, both Adrian and Lisa were watching him, Adrian’s face hard to read and Lisa’s shining with something like sadness. He had eaten as quick as he always did (which would be more accurately described as inhaling) because food was never a guarantee, even when it was in your hands. Maybe they thought he was rude? Maybe he had grossed the two of them out (Adrian sure looked prissy enough to be grossed out by eating)? Regardless, he quickly averted his eyes, opting to look at the table. At the very least, it didn’t look back. 

“Um, anyway, like I was saying: how would you like to go on a tour of the castle, Trevor? I’m sure Adrian would love to show you around.” 

Trevor was pretty sure that was the last thing Adrian wanted to do, but a tour of the place would make it easier to find an exit, since waltzing out the front door apparently wasn’t going to work, so he sucked it up and nodded his head. “That would be nice; I don’t like being stuck in one room for too long.” 

“Perfect! You two can get started after you’re done eating. I’ve got to go down into town today; Mrs. Waleski has an appointment this afternoon.” And with that, Lisa was heading out of the room, leaving an uncomfortable silence in her wake. Adrian wasn’t getting up or saying anything, and for a second Trevor thought that he might have to be the one to initiate a tour of a house that wasn’t his, when the other boy stood up suddenly, huffing. 

“Fine then, let’s make this quick.” 

Adrian walked _fast._ He had longer legs to begin with, but he was definitely doing it on purpose, and hell if Trevor was going to mortally wound his pride and ask him to slow down, so he just walked faster to eventually keep pace a little bit behind Adrian. He didn’t talk much either, only pointing things out every once in awhile and explaining something in as few words as possible. 

“For fuck’s sake, exploring this place on my own would be more useful than you are,” Trevor eventually panted, stopping where he was and glaring defiantly when Adrian turned around to face him. 

“Well then why don’t you? Scared the big bad vampire will catch you?” 

Trevor’s first instinct was to say no, because Belmonts weren’t supposed to be scared of anything, but he had already disproved that with his outburst the previous night. He could feel the blush beginning to color his cheeks, hot with embarrassment. 

“Maybe you should be more worried about _me._ You’re all alone with me right now; who’s to say I won’t ‘eat you or some shit.’” Adrian sneered. 

“Huh?” He said dumbly, because Adrian definitely wasn’t a vampire. He didn’t incite the same feeling of _unnatural_ as “Vlad” did, and Trevor didn’t think it was because of the fact that he couldn’t have been older than sixteen. 

Adrian blinked. “What do you mean ‘huh’? My father is a vampire, you dumbass! You think I’m just a human?” 

Now that Trevor thought about it, there was a vague sense of unease floating around Adrian, and his eyes weren’t exactly a natural color, but it was more or less offset by the faint pink and fleshy hues to his skin and the soft yellow of his hair. The strangest thing about him was the way he moved, which was maybe a bit too flowy and graceful for a lanky teenager, but Trevor had mostly chalked that up to good balance or something (which was way more plausible than being half vampire, if you asked him.) 

“Bastards exist, and widows! How was I supposed to know you were half a vampire! Who’s even heard of that?” His parents had never told him about vampire-human hybrids, although they hadn't gotten the chance to tell him a lot of things, so he guessed it wasn't too far fetched. 

Adrian blinked again, like he wasn’t prepared to have the conversation flipped on him like it had. At least he didn’t look so angry for once. 

“Wait, so can you do everything a vampire can? Do you have to drink blood and stuff?” Trevor couldn’t stop himself from asking. Adrian wasn’t all that scary when compared to his father, and his whip was still at his side if he really needed it. At the very least, he hadn’t turned and attacked Trevor yet, so he doubted the other boy suddenly would. 

“M-mostly. Some skills come later in life, I guess. And not that often, but occasionally.” Adrian was frowning again, and Trevor was sure he’d never met anyone who frowned as much as he did. “Why are you so scared of my father, but not of me?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed. 

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, “ you don’t really seem all that scary. You’re, like, my age, too.” In retrospect, he didn’t have all that great a reason. “You look more like your mother than you do him.” He added on, as if that was any more valid. 

Adrian sighed. His face scrunched up like he was about to say something he didn’t particularly want to say. “Look. I can understand why you’d be freaked out by my father-” 

“He’s seven feet tall and has teeth longer than my fingers,” he interrupted, grinning when the other boy glared, and it doesn't seem as scary when he's talking about it like a joke. 

_“Like I was saying._ But seriously, he’s not out to get you. If he wanted to kill you, he would’ve; he’s fucking Dracula, for Christ’s sake - it’s not like you could’ve stopped him.” At those words, Trevor was sure his skin tone got about two shades paler, or that his heart might have stopped for a minute. _Dracula._ “So calm the fuck down,” Adrian continued, “because no one’s going to kill you.” 

And then he was walking again, resuming the tour like he hadn’t just said Dracula was his fucking father. Trevor walked after him, briefly realizing they weren’t having a competitive speed walking race anymore. Adrian was talking again, still sounding kind of clipped and uncomfortable, but Trevor suddenly couldn’t hear a single word he was actually saying. 

_Fucking Dracula._

The big boss of vampires, the one his family had been hunting for years and years. Entire generations before him. Every Belmont knew about Dracula; there was a section in the library just for him alone. Trevor had never gone into that area, because Dracula was the monster under the bed, the something hiding in his closet at night. His parents had told them stories of Belmonts decades past; ones that had seen the castle, ones that hadn’t come back. “The castle moves,” his older brother had told him once, and he hadn’t believed it because the idea of a castle teleporting was so strange and implausible that it couldn’t be real. He was a thing of legends, some scary story to tell misbehaving children, but also real, which had always made him scarier.

“I’m gonna be the one to do it,” the same brother had said once, at dinner. “I’m gonna kill Dracula.” 

“Don’t go alone,” his father had chastised. “Take your siblings, or us, with you. It wouldn’t be a fair fight against just one person.” 

“And wait a couple years, sweetie. Twelve year old boys shouldn’t be fighting fully grown vampires just yet.” His mother added on, and she wasn’t smiling. 

The smell of food, some type of meat that was charred just a little bit because neither one of his parents was the best at cooking, rose in the air and stayed there, churning and growing impossible to escape, and suddenly it was the smell of something else burning. Something that was more than charred. 

He imagined his brother again, twelve years old and ready to kill Dracula. He had never gotten the chance. 

“-vor? Trevor?” 

Trevor had the chance. 

He was in the castle, and he was a Belmont. 

“Trevor!” 

There was really only one thing he could do. 

“Jesus, are you alive in there?” 

Adrian was talking, he realized. “Yeah, yeah, sorry. What were you saying?” 

Adrian was silent for a moment, eyes narrowed in consideration. “Are you. . . okay?” He asked, sounding unsure. 

“Yeah, perfect,” he answered, and they both ignored the fact that it was a blatant lie. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for disappearing for awhile there; I keep getting distracted (first it as rewatching The Walking Dead and now it's catching up on Stranger Things)!!! I was gunning to post this on the 4th of July because it's on of my favorite holidays, but I missed the mark a bit. Also I swear Trevor'll chill out after a bit, but he's even more (understandably) freaked out after this chapter. I tried to capture Adrian's kind of bitchy attitude, but even he would have to admit that Dracula can be scary sometimes! Also I hope it seems realistic enough that Trevor wouldn't know about half-vampires - his parents didn't really have time to teach him everything there is to know about monsters, and it probably wouldn't be that common in the first place, considering. Tell me how I did if you'd like; I live for all the sweet comments on this, especially the last chapter.3 Thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trevor makes a friend and takes a bath.

Trevor had a plan. 

He was going to kill Dracula, one way or another, and with a plan was better than without. 

His mother had always told him it was better to scope things out before running into a blind attack, if it was possible. He had never really listened to that piece of advice, as impulsive as he had always been; he liked the thrill of jumping into something with no idea what to expect, at least when it came to the smaller creatures his parents had let him practice on. The stakes were never high enough for him to actually be careful, because his siblings were beside him and his parents were waiting on standby. 

He wondered if she would be happy with him, finally planning something out. 

He wasn’t stupid enough to think he could kill Dracula without any idea of what he was doing. He had the perfect opportunity to familiarize himself with the family, if they insisted he was allowed to stay. If they became comfortable with him, they’d let their guard down, and then he could make an attack. He could start with befriending Adrian and Lisa and work his way up from there. 

He left his room to find Adrian; it was the next day and he didn’t think the other boy was mad at him anymore. He hadn’t left his room since the tour ended, with Lisa coming up and bringing him dinner and breakfast, perhaps sensing the fact that he wasn’t ready to sit at a table with the actual one and only Dracula. He would go down that night, though, because building up trust made it a necessary evil. 

Searching around was easier after the tour, even if he really hadn’t been paying attention for half of it. It was a big castle, though, and he was almost at a loss when he didn’t find Adrian in the kitchen or the living room next to it. He didn’t know where the other bedrooms were, and he wouldn’t have exactly felt comfortable looking for Adrian there anyway. The entrance, which he had learned was connected to the large, nearly empty room with the two big staircases, taunted him - now that he knew where it was, he couldn’t even leave through it. 

So he basically just wandered around, peeking into rooms, finding them empty besides the ornate furniture littering each one. The castle was far too large for the family of three, and the unlived in rooms brought Trevor both an unsettling sense of familiarity and a vague uneasy feeling in his chest. The shadows on the walls and in the top most corners of each room were dangerous, playing tricks on his eyes and making him jumpy. 

Eventually, he heard a faint metallic clanging from one of the rooms, and looking in, he wouldn’t admit he was relieved to see Adrian, dancing around a fighting dummy. Trevor easily recognized the scene; just replace the dummy with an older brother and Adrian could’ve easily been Trevor himself. Ignoring the floating sword, that was, because there was a fucking floating sword darting across the room. Of course there was. 

“Whoa,” he blurted before he could stop himself, because the thing was _fast,_ and also _floating in the air._ It was satisfying enough to watch Adrian have a mini heart attack (could vampires have heart attacks? Half-vampires?), the sword hitting the ground with a terrible clang. 

“Jesus!” Adrian was back to his glaring game, but Trevor wandered into the room anyway, picking up the sword with careful hands. It was a play sword, made of some kind of metal but not as heavy or weighty as something that could do real damage. 

“How do you make it fly?” He asked, curling his fingers along the metal. 

“Vampiric abilities, I’m not exactly sure. Although the design of the sword helps; something thin, easy to control.” 

“Hmm. . . they don’t make swords like that in Wallachia, do they?” 

“No, but my father has traveled all over the world. He has a couple real ones; I’ll get one once I get good enough with this one.” 

“Must get boring practicing with a dummy all the time,” Trevor raised his eyebrows at the dummy, which looked like it had been through the ringer more than a couple times. The thing had more holes and slashes in it than he could count. Adrian shrugged. “Sometimes my father’s. . . coworkers will practice with me, but they’re not around all that much, and he doesn’t like me to hang around them anyway. Unless Hector’s visiting, but he’s not all that great at sword fighting.” 

“You should practice with me!” He was a little out of practice, but his bruises were beginning to fade and his feet were itching to do something. Not to mention, sparring always brought him and his siblings closer; comradery in simple hard work and competition, no matter who won. 

Adrian looked him over dubiously. “I don’t think my mother would really approve of that. Also, no offence, but what would _you_ know about fighting? You were getting your ass kicked when my father found you. You’re just a townsperson.” 

He gritted his teeth. “That was against five grown men, so fuck you very much. I;m stronger than I look. Besides, I’m _dying_ to do something, it’s not like I’m going to spontaneously combust or anything.” 

Adrian sighed, and the sword rose out of Trevor’s hands with a look from the boy. “Fine, but don’t start whining when you lose.” He walked towards a cabinet in the corner of the room, dragging out another practice sword, flat and wide like Trevor was familiar with. It was comfortable in his grasp, lighter than he was used to (he did have a _real_ sword strapped to his waist, after all), but still familiar. A whip would be better, but he could hardly use his own on Adrian; it wasn’t the Vampire Killer, but it was still a holy whip, and the last thing he needed was for Adrian to go to his father with burns all over his body, pointing at Trevor. 

It turned out that Adrian was good at sparring. He was _fast,_ darting around the room along with his sword, attacking one side and moving to the other so quickly that all Trevor could do was lift his weapon in defense. But there was a pattern to it, relatively easy to see after the first set of attacks, making it easy enough to stick his foot out in just the right place at just the right time. The small stumble was all he needed to go back on the offensive, swinging his sword in a broad arch that Adrian only just deflected with his own. He was more at home with the swinging movements and short jabs that came with attacking, and they came back to him more and more as he moved. 

Adrian managed to roll away from the general line of attack quickly (the fact that his sword wasn’t connected to his actual body was a huge advantage), and was back to darting back and forth before Trevor could get past the weapon floating in front of him. Before he knew it, the coolness of the metal was pressing into the back of his neck, goosebumps settling on the flesh. 

Adrian lowered his sword. “You _tripped_ me! That’s hardly an honorable thing to do in a fight!” His voice was high and breathy from all the running around, his hands on his hips, reminding Trevor of his mother, out of breath from chasing her unruly children around. He half expected Adrian to tell him to go clean his room or set the table for dinner. 

“Honor’s not going to save my life in a fight, is it?” 

“. . . Fine, but this time no dirty moves!” 

Sparring with Adrian was fun, even if it wasn’t easy. At the very least, he was practicing with someone at least vaguely similar to Dracula, as well as finally getting out of bed. It was easy to fall back into a rhythm, and was beyond entertaining when he occasionally managed to trip Adrian again. Adrian won more often than not, which only irked him a little; he had always lost to his brothers, older and stronger than he was, so it didn’t bother him as much as it could’ve. His mother had always said that just because someone is better than you, doesn’t necessarily mean you’re not good. 

A couple new bruises joined the sea of fading greens and sickly yellows on his skin, proud and purple-blue and accompanied by an actual smile for the first time since he’d come to the castle. 

“That was. . . fun,” Adrian admitted, looking like he was trying to swallow a lemon. “You’re not as terrible as I thought you’d be. We should do it again sometime. “ He paused before a huge grin spread across his face. “As long as you take a bath first; you reek.” 

He walked away before Trevor could get his revenge in a well timed trip. 

*****

Baths were never something Trevor particularly enjoyed. 

He liked being outside, getting dirty, playing rough in the mud with his brothers. He liked to run and jump and play and fight, and didn’t see the point of cleaning himself when he was just going to get dirty again the next day. But they were, after all, a noble family, and his mother wouldn’t allow them to go too long without a bath. He never thought it would be something he missed. 

The bath at Dracula’s castle was unlike anything he had ever seen before. There was a small wooden tub, like he was used to, but there was some metal tube next to it, connected to the wall and working its way up it like a vine. There was a knob connected to it, and he turned it so slowly and cautiously, like it was a dangerous weapon in and of itself. 

He jumped when a slow trickle of water started coming from the tube, landing in a steady dribble in the tub below it. It had to be some kind of magic - he had never seen something like it. Water that moved on its own through a building? He didn’t think it was possible. 

When he turned it more to the right, more water came out, different from the small trickle. The tub filled up rapidly, him watching with awe and slight fear. Bathing had never been convenient for him; the process of carrying heavy buckets of heated water to the tub was never exactly fun, especially considering they needed new water for each person. He almost wanted to laugh at how _easy_ it seemed, but he settled for looking on in wonder instead. 

The tub was almost full when he turned the knob to the left, experimentally, and the water stopped dripping. The water wasn’t exactly warm, but it wasn’t cold either, and stepping into it felt _good._

He shed the dirt from his body like shedding a second skin, scrubbing until his flesh was about two shades lighter and beginning to turn red from all the friction. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face, even as he brushed against aching bruises and old scar tissue. The burns on his legs and feet gave him a bit of pause, ugly and raised, but even that didn’t diminish how good it felt to be clean. 

He made a point to not think about Dracula; some things were better left unconsidered when you were naked, after all. He could dream up assassination plans all night if he wanted anyway.

At some point, he noticed a new type of wetness on his face, a silent trail of tears making their way down his cheeks. They barely made a ripple in the greyish water, and he almost didn’t notice them. It wasn’t like the tears he’d cried on those early nights, loud and desperate and destroyed. These were subtle, a slight stinging at the corner of his eye, a tiny sniffle every couple minutes. He let them fall, and didn’t think too hard about why they were. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof I'm sorry for the long wait; I've been pretty unmotivated for these past weeks when it comes to writing and posting this. The support for this has been really great; thanks for all the kudos and comments - they really light up my day! As always, let me know what you thought if you're so inclined! I figured it was finally time for Trevor to actually interact with literally anyone without screaming or passing out, so here we are! (Also isn't it cannon that Dracula has a bunch of sophisticated science stuff - I hope running water fits into that because if not then whoops?)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trevor and Lisa have a conversation.

Finding things to do around the castle wasn’t very hard. Adrian was always around doing something, often times sparring, but sometimes reading or writing something. On those days, Trevor usually tried to find something else to do; reading had never been his idea of fun, although his family had collected books almost religiously. If he needed any more incentive, Adrian got pissy when Trevor bothered him, and not even in a fun way, either. 

Sometimes he would go and practice with his whip alone, steadily getting back to the level of skill he had back when he practiced everyday with his siblings. He felt stronger than he had in weeks, months, maybe. He was starting to gain back some weight after a week and a half, although he could still see the vague outline of his ribs if he looked close enough, and the clothes he had borrowed from Adrian hung off him like he was wearing a sheet. 

Sometimes he just wandered the castle; he’d gotten more familiar with the place. He worked on plans of attack as he walked, memorizing escape routes and hiding places. He closed his eyes and tried to remember all the ways to hurt vampires, drilled into his head as a child but unused for long enough that the information was akin to a dusty, unopened book in his brain. 

Very occasionally he would stumble upon another inhabitant of the house. When he saw Dracula, he either made a quick escape before the other saw him, or stood there awkwardly if he’d been spotted. He didn’t want to come off as rude by downright ignoring Dracula, so he would nod up at the vampire as some sort of silent greeting. (Dinners, which he had finally taken to eating in the dining room like a normal human being, were awkward; he sat at the table but didn’t talk unless directly addressed. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, not even some sort of half-assed apology for his eventful first day of consciousness in the castle, but no one had chastised him for it yet, despite the numerous eye rolls Adrian had sent his way.) 

Wandering upon Lisa was a much more welcome experience, although it didn’t happen that often because she worked down in the town. (Normally, they would have actually have a house in a town if they were staying long term, but she apparently thought staying in the castle was safer with him around.) She would always strike up a conversation, and sometimes let him help with what she was doing. 

That day, he found her in one of the large, strange rooms. There were a lot of them around the castle, and he always got spooked before he could look too closely at anything in them. They were filled to the brim with vials of colorful liquid, ancient books, and bizarre instruments, similar to the lights or the bath. He felt distinctly out of place in them, among things he couldn’t understand. 

“Trevor!” Lisa called, standing by an angled tube of metal, larger at the end pointed up at the sky and thinner where she stood. It was aimed up at a big window, letting the nearly-dusk light shine through and brighten up the room. “You’re exploring the castle more and more these days, aren’t you?”

“Hello,” he answered, walking over to her cautiously. Looking closer, he could see a small piece of glass at the thin end, reflecting light from the torches on the opposite wall. She smiled at him when she noticed him inspecting the machine. 

“It’s called a telescope. You can look through it and see all the stars and planets up close.” She explained, soft smile turning into a small laugh when she saw the look of disbelief on his face. 

“I can already see the stars,” he said simply, “why would I ever need to see them closer?”

“To learn more about them, silly.” Her voice took up a wistful tone at that. “There’s so much we don’t know, Trevor. So much we could know.” She sighed, and then moved to the middle of the room in a flurry, pointing up excitedly, seeming to abandon her put off attitude in an instant.

“All these? They’re planets, like ours, somewhere up in space, all spinning around the same sun.” Above her was a golden mess of rings and orbs, centered around one big one that seemed to let off a faint light. “Mercury, Venus, Earth - that’s here - Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Pluto,” she listed, pointing to each one respectively. “There’s whole other worlds out there, just waiting to be explored.”

“I’ve never heard of any of that. How do you know all this?” He had a guess, but he was curious, gazing at the golden orbs above like they could actually tell him anything. 

“My husband; he knows so much about the world.”

“How?”

“He’s been around for a long time. . . I guess he’s just been trying to keep busy.” She paused for a second, watching him look around the room with a newfound interest. “That’s how we met, you know. I came here looking for medical knowledge.”

“You wanted to become a doctor?”

“That’s right. I’ve been able to help so many more people because of Vlad. He’s done more for me than I could ever ask for.” She sounded so happy when she said it, like she really loved him, which made him distinctly uncomfortable. 

Trevor hesitated. “I think my mother would’ve liked you. . . She liked helping people, too.” Their ways of helping were so drastically different - there wasn’t a time in Trevor’s memory that he couldn’t place a weapon on his mother’s person, but there was love in what both of them did. 

Lisa’s eyes were sad as she watched him watching the floor. Her voice was quiet when she spoke. “What happened to your family, Trevor? Why were you out all by yourself?”

“Who says I’m not old enough to be out by myself,” he huffed, not even fooling himself. If his face wasn’t so gaunt, he knew he would have the tell tale baby fat cheeks, a Belmont trait that his older brothers had loathed (“I’m 16 and I look like a preteen, Mom! You couldn’t have passed on better genes?” He’d gotten a slap for that comment, and Trevor vowed to never make the same mistake when the trait inevitably fell on him too.) The look Lisa leveled him with spoke volumes; he wasn’t getting away with that one. 

“The church. . . umm. . . burned them.”

The words were uncomfortable coming out of his throat, all jagged edges and awkward pauses, getting stuck on his teeth on the way into the air. He didn’t look up from where his gaze was locked on the floor. He didn’t want to see pity in Lisa’s eyes, like he was some lost little puppy in need of a pat on the head. 

Her hands were on her shoulders before he could blink, and she was kneeling in front of him, right in his line of sight, before he could escape the grasp. “They don’t understand what they’re doing, but that doesn’t make it any better. I’m sorry that happened, Trevor.” Poorly hidden anger was smoldering in her eyes, and it was the first time he had seen her look mad. 

It made him feel vaguely uncomfortable, both the anger and the motherly grasp on his shoulders. The touch almost felt nice, but it was overshadowed by the wrongness of it. No one had touched him with kindness in years; his body was anticipating a trick, a betrayal, the inevitable hit from someone who only saw some dirty street rat. Under all of that, there was a terrible misleading thought that if he blinked his eyes, there would be a different face staring him back, with dark brown hair instead of blonde. It was almost cruel in the way it was familiar.

She didn’t step back though, even with the tense set to his shoulders. He didn’t look away from his eyes and he didn’t blink. 

“Why’d they do it?”

Trevor wanted to get mad, wanted to yell and shake her off and tell her that she had no right to ask him that, and that the answer was obvious anyway. Why did the church burn anyone, afterall? But he couldn’t bring himself to be angry when she was looking at him all serious and sad and calm, like she really cared. His breath shook when he let it out, unsteady. “Witches. . . They thought we were. . .” He trailed off. 

“How long ago?” She was rubbing circles on his back, a movement that was more distracting than comforting, but he didn’t bother trying to shake her off. 

“Two years ago,” he paused, sucked in a shallow gasp of air, “I was twelve.”

Her arms slowly wound their way around him, until he was wrapped up in a warm hug. He felt weak and stupidly close to crying, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the conversation or the embrace. He had never told someone what had happened to his family; no one had ever cared, and even if they had, saying it out loud was like reviving the memory, all burnt flesh and sharp yellow contrasting the dark night sky.

“As long as I’m around, no one’s gonna hurt you, Trevor, I swear it. You can stay here as long as you need; you’ll be safe.” She sounded like she meant it, voice soft and hard at the same time, determined, as his spindly arms finally come to rest against her back. “Vlad tends to send priests quivering in their boots, afterall,” she said, pulling away with a small smile. He remembered the priest Dracula had scared half to death, and couldn’t help the small smirk on his face, even though it was Dracula and he probably should’ve been a little more scared than he was imagining him threatening a man’s life. 

Lisa straightened up, clapping her hands with excitement. “Why don’t we look at the stars?” She gestured to the telescope, the large window showing the early night sky, tiny pricks of light decorating the darkness. “I can show you the constellations!” 

He felt tired, unfairly so for having done next to nothing all day, but he couldn’t argue with the way her eyes lit up at the idea, or the way her arm was warm across his shoulders as she led him back to the machine. She was a flurry of movement, setting the machine up, and by the time Trevor had worked up the nerve to actually put his eye up to it, the previous conversation lay forgotten among a thousand twinkling pricks of light. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lisa makes another appearance!! Not tooooo happy with this chapter, it feels a little weird to me to be honest. Tell me how I did in the comments in you'd like, though! (Also sorry for very sporadically updating this; I don't even really have an excuse lol)  
> Anyways, thank you for reading and have a great day/night!! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trevor finds a dog.

Trevor didn’t sleep well very often. Dreams always floated behind his eyelids, starting out as memories and morphing into nightmarish things, burned out corpses walking around like lifeless puppets. His entire life played out in his brain, like it was some show, a play his sister had been dying to see. Sometimes monsters from the big books in the library walked alive and animated in his dreams, and sometimes they killed everyone around him and sometimes they were burned alive in a blaze too big to control. 

He woke up with a gasp, an aborted noise like a whine dying in his throat. The early morning light shone through the curtains, conveniently finding a way to shine directly in his eyes. Sitting up and rubbing them, he sighed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and getting dressed. 

He headed to the sparring room, where Adrian would be if he was lucky enough. Despite his vampiric bloodline, Trevor found himself inexplicably liking the other boy. He was just snarky enough to be funny on a good day and annoying on a bad one, and he was easy to rile up, for all he tried to be cool and collected. It was funny, if not entertaining, and nice to have someone relatively close to his age to talk to (“You’re not, like, a thousand years old, are you?” “No you fucking moron, I’m sixteen.”)

Not to mention, sparring with him was fun. Adrian wasn’t delicate like he looked, and he always put up a challenge, which meant Trevor lost about 80% of the time. Hopefully, the other boy wouldn’t be holed up somewhere reading, because if he had learned anything in the week and a half he’d been there, it was that he shouldn’t bother Adrian when he was reading. 

The door swung open and he was immediately greeted with a faceful of white fur as a weight slammed into him, sending him to the floor. 

“Wahh!?” He cried, laying on his back with a fucking wolf on top of him, its paws digging into his skin and its body an uncomfortable weight to his diaphragm. His semi-bruised body protested with a small wheeze and a promise he was going to feel this a lot more later. The thing wasn’t as big as he’d thought wolves were, but was still probably up to his hip in height, with brilliantly white fur. Its eyes were a yellow color, and he didn’t think that was a thing that could happen, but he couldn’t exactly argue when a wolf with yellow eyes was crushing his rib cage. 

“Please get off,” he groaned, and to his surprise, it listened, smiling with all its doggy teeth. They were about the same height when they were both sitting, the top of its head level with Trevor’s chin. 

Of course, his first instinct was to be wary of a large, strange dog in Dracula’s castle, but it didn’t seem particularly aggressive, sitting back on its haunches and staring at him expectantly. 

Trevor had always wanted a dog. 

His father had always said they didn’t have time for one, even when Trevor begged and begged. He thought a dog could help them hunt vampires, smell them out, maybe, but his parents had insisted it would be nothing but a distraction, a burden. “It wouldn’t survive in a fight with a vampire, and then you’d be the one crying, Trevor,” his oldest brother had tried to explain, when he came crying about it. He’d gotten over it - whining and wailing never lasted long in the Belmont estate - but that didn’t mean he suddenly didn’t want a dog. 

“Hi,” he said, softly, and held out his hand for the wolf to sniff, like he had always done with the dogs in town, and if wolves could look surprised, this one did. He let out a delighted laugh when, instead of sniffing him, the animal raised its paw in some semblance of a hand shake. 

“Whose dog are you, buddy? I’ve never seen you around here.” He was not the least bit ashamed over the way he was baby talking the animal, although that may have just been because no one was around. He could only imagine the way Adrian would make fun of him if he’d been watching. “Adrian didn’t tell me about you either. Are you are guard dog?” 

The wolf got up and barked loudly, teeth clean and sharp, and Trevor thought it looked a little like it was smiling. Its bushy tail was wagging, thumping against the door frame with every enthusiastic swing. Trevor stood up, ruffling the fur on the top of its head and ignoring the distinctly new twinge in his ribcage. 

It bared its teeth at the touch, looking about as humanly annoyed as an animal could possibly be. “Not a fan of pats, then? That’s alright.” Trevor soothed, drawing his hand back from its subconscious journey back to the soft fur. 

Suddenly it was pushing at his legs with enough force that he fell right back down, his tailbone protesting loudly at the mistreatment. “Hey!” He felt a prick of worry that maybe paling around with a strange wolf in his mortal enemy’s house wasn’t actually the best decision, but it dissipated when he saw the telltale playful pose the dog was sporting. “That was mean!” He chided instead of doing something reasonable like running or screaming or literally anything else. 

Getting to his feet, he chased after the wolf as it raced around the sparring room on lithe legs. It was much faster than him, running circles around him and periodically knocking him off his feet or headbutting the backs of his knees. Trevor laughed as he made a wild grab for the wolf, managing to get its back legs and tumbling after it as it fell gracelessly, all spindly limbs and thick fur. 

Tired, he buried his face in the fur, half laying on top of it. It smelled like sweat and something earthy and familiar, and it made a good pillow, all things considered. He had played with it for longer than he thought, completely having forgotten about looking for Adrian. It huffed at him, shaking him off and standing up, looking down at him with an almost impressive judgey expression. Trevor smirked stupidly back; the thing had knocked him around enough that it deserved to have his bony rib cage poking into it. 

It wandered over to the practice weapons in the corner of the room while he watched with curious eyes. He certainly hadn’t been expecting it to pick up Adrian’s stupidly long sword in its jaw, looking proud of itself. 

_“What the fuck?”_ He said, sitting up quickly because oh my God the dog had a sword?

“Put that down!” He yelled, and in response, it started running around with the sword in its mouth, seeming to find joy in the stricken expression of Trevor’s face. “Oh my God, who taught you to hold swords? No!”

After around ten minutes of Trevor running around, trying to get the sword of the dog’s mouth without taking his own head off, it stopped running and slumped as if struck by exhaustion out of the blue. The sword clattered the ground, the wolf’s tongue lolling and bright eyes drooping. 

“Good dog,” Trevor muttered, inching closer to grab the sword before the wolf regained its energy. 

Before he could get too close, the dog exploded into a cloud of white smoke, because apparently wolves dissipating into thin air was on the table today. Trevor could only stare stupidly as Adrian emerged from the cloud, looking both amused and embarrassed at the same time. He wondered if it was even humanly (vampirically?) possible for his day to get any more bizarre. 

“Where’s the wolf?” Trevor sputtered, flapping his hands like a mad man. 

“Yeah. . . That was me.” Adrian looked sheepish. 

“You’re a _dog?”_

Adrian blustered at that, his face going as red as Trevor had ever seen it. “I’m not a dog! I can just. . . turn into one.” 

“So _why_ were you a dog?”

“I wanted to. . . um, scare you.” 

“Huh?”

“I thought you might get freaked out by a random wolf attacking you!”

“First of all, ‘attacking’ is a bit strong. You only growled at me once! And why did you _stay_ a dog after it didn’t work?”

“Sometimes its hard to switch back! I only just now switched because I got so tired! It’s not like I’m a vampire master or anything, Jesus!”

“Vampires can turn into dogs? _Why?”_

“Can we please stop calling them dogs, it doesn’t sound rig-”

“Your _dad_ can turn into a dog?”

“Trevor,” Adrian groaned, making him grin. He was so embarrassed it almost made up for the fact that Trevor had been bonding with a fake dog the entire day. “Can we please just agree to never speak about this day ever again to anyone, ever?”

“What’s in it for me? I’ve got this killer story I can’t tell anyone now. . .” Not like anyone he had anyone to really tell, or that anyone would believe him. 

“Because, if this gets out, everyone will know that you baby talk dogs.”

_“Everyone_ baby talks dogs, Adrian.” 

The other boy raised his brow, and Trevor was willing to bet his life that Adrian was the only creature in all of Wallachia that didn’t have a specific voice for talking to dogs. 

He sighed. “Agreed.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummm yikes it's been, like 6 months since I last updated? Sorry about that; I kind of feel out of this story for awhile. I tend to enter fandoms sporadically and then get distracted by different ones, which is more or less what happened here. I'll try to be better about it in the future, and I'll try to update at least once a month, if not more, until this is completed!  
> This chapter is a bit of a break from all the sadness, because one of my main motivations for writing this (if you can believe it) was that I wanted to write a scene where Adrian is literally just a dog and Trevor is like <3\. I know it's not exactly tonally consistent here, and sorry if it's out of place or kind of a left turn (and also a weird way to return after radio silence for months!) Let me know what you think, if anyone's still reading, haha!

**Author's Note:**

> So I watched Castlevania on Netflix and I kind of fell in love. I can't believe I adore the primary antagonist as much as I do, but my heart goes out for Dracula. But I've seen a couple "Lisa adopts Trevor" fanfics and wanted to contribute my own since I love that AU a lot. This chapter is more of an introductory one, considering nothing really happened, but hopefully it'll heat up and get a bit more interesting in the next chapter, and it should be a bit longer too! :) Characterization may be a bit of a struggle, so any advice or constructive criticism is welcome. Thank you for reading and have a lovely day!  
> (Also sorry for my atrocious tagging!)


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